"David Drake - Belisarius 3 - Destiny's Shield" - читать интересную книгу автора (Drake David)

his father. His old father.
He glanced at the mutilated face of his new father, the former Emperor
Justinian. That sightless face was fixed upon him, as if Justinian still had
eyes to see. That sightless, harsh, bitter face.
It's not fair, whimpered the Emperor in his mind. I want my old father back.
My real father.
The ambassador was backing away. The Emperor of Rome began to sigh with
relief, until, catching a hint of Theodora's disapproval, he stiffened with
imperial dignity.
Maybe he won't be mean to me, after all.
The ambassador was fifteen feet off, now. He still seemed to be smiling.
It's not fair. The Sassanids are from Fars, too, so why can't we call them
Persians?
Now, he did sigh, slightly. He felt the Empress Regent's disapproval, but
ignored it.
It's too much to remember all at once.
Another sigh. The Empress Consort hissed. Again, he ignored her reproof.
I'm the Emperor. I can do what I want.
That was patently false, and he knew it.
It's not fair.
I'm only eight years old.
The ambassador was thirty feet away, now. Out of hearing range. Theodora
leaned over.
The Emperor braced himself for her reproach.
Nasty lady. I want my old mother back.
But all she said was:
"That was very well done, Photius. Your mother will be proud of you." Then,
with a slight smile: "Your real mother."

"I'm proud of you, Photius," said Antonina. "You did very well." She leaned
over the throne's armrest and kissed him on the cheek.
Her son flushed, partly from pleasure and partly from guilt. He didn't think
being kissed in public by his mother fit the imperial image he was supposed to
project. But, when his eyes quickly scanned the throne room, he saw that few
people were watching. After the Empress Regent had left, to hold a private
meeting with the Persian ambassador and his father (both of his fathers), the
reception had dissolved into a far more relaxed affair. Most of the crowd were
busy eating, drinking and chattering. They were ignoring, for all practical
purposes, the august personage of the Emperor. No-one standing anywhere near
to him, of course, committed the gross indiscretion of actually turning their
back on the throne's small occupant. But neither was anyone anxious to
ingratiate themselves to the new Emperor. Everyone knew that the real power
was in the hands of Theodora.
Photius was not disgruntled by the crowd's indifference to him. To the
contrary, he was immensely relieved. For the first time since the reception
began, he felt he could relax. He even pondered, tentatively, the thought of
reaching up and scratching behind his ear.
Then, squaring his shoulders, he did so. Scratched furiously, in fact.
I'm the Emperor of Rome. I can do what I want.
"Stop scratching behind your ear!" hissed his mother. "You're the Emperor of